Samara gave him a heated stare that rocked him to the soles of his feet as she licked her perfect lips. “I guess you’d better get on it, Mr. Thorn.”
He couldn’t help in that moment but to grin wide. “Alrighty. But just remember, you were the one that asked for this, Mrs. Thorn.”
Leaving the chapel, all Mark could do was thank the fact that they now lived in a perpetual state of litigation where even the little chapel in the desert had readymade prenups included with their deluxe wedding packages. He knew it was all but guaranteed that the shit would hit the fan when the world found out about him marrying the Leighton Princess, and Howard Leighton would have his balls on a silver platter. So he was glad to at least have a prenup on his side saying he wasn’t taking her for her money. Though Samara said she didn’t care either way, he still had a feeling she did and he for damned sure would at least have it in his back pocket to show a small stitch of pride to Leighton.
• • •
Mark was lost in thought as he looked out the hotel window, taking in the view of Vegas laid out before him from the opulent suite that Samara had reserved for them. Over time he had grown used to some of the finer things, but nothing like this. This was over the top and honestly, it gave him pause. This extra luxurious thread count, anytime day or night turn down service, bedroom plus bath, plus extra two baths, for good measure was beyond his comprehension. But Sam, she seemed to take it all in stride and as commonplace. The same way she took the bar-b-que at Mel’s in stride. But how long could that last? When would their differences become glaringly apparent? He raked his hand across his head. Would it be when she really found out about his humble beginnings and saw him for what he really was? Could she reconcile with that and stay in it for the long haul? He didn’t know, and the fear that gripped him because of it was worse than anything he’d ever felt.
Mark swallowed and sat up from where he was lounging back on the edge of the bed as Samara emerged from the shower. The backlight of the bathroom lit her shapely body which was barely contained by the towel; all that combined with the added steam wafting around had him instantly at full attention. Mark heard himself as a low rumble of a breath escaped his throat and Samara smiled sheepishly, looking down at the towel and them back up at him. “Sorry it’s not much in the way of a wedding trousseau. I should have stopped downstairs and picked something up.”
Mark got up and walked over to her, telling himself in the few steps along the way to take it slow. She grinned, taking in his nakedness and already evident readiness for her. Mark reached her and wrapped his arms around her warm body. “And that, Mrs. Thorn, would have been a terrible waste of money. There is no way, in the mood I’m in, that I’d let you keep it on long enough to be worth the cost.” He leaned in and inhaled, taking in that heady, mesmerizing scent of her and groaned. Reaching his hands up, he took both ends of the towel and pulled them apart. “God, you are gorgeous.”
Leaning down, he ran his tongue along the sweet expanse of her regal neck and gave a silent thanks to the gods for this moment, for this queen offering herself up before him. Dropping the towel he lifted her and deposited her gently on the bed. It was then that Mark made a silent vow that as long as he had her to love; he would never spend a moment feeling sorry for himself again.
“I will always love you.” Her voice was all the assurance his soul needed as his lips came down on hers.
Closing his eyes against her questioning ones, he leaned in and whispered in her ear, “And I’ve loved you forever.”
Kisses like wine and honey, Mark was lost as he intertwined his tongue with hers, wanting to stay there forever, but still wanting more he forced his lips away, starting his journey down her body. Pausing at her perfect globes, he filled his mouth with one nipple then another. Their peaks reached the roof of his mouth and her moans were music to his ears. But still he wanted more and her greedy hands pushing his head further told him she did too.
Only too happy to oblige, Mark leaned down, filling his hands with her thighs. Inhaling her scent, he leaned in, spreading her apart, taking in the beautiful shimmer of her lovely essence. He began to stroke her slowly with his fingers, satisfied with the husky moan and arch of her back. With a lick of his lips, he leaned down and replaced his fingers with his tongue, feasting until he felt her walls quiver around him, her sighs turn to heavy pants, and his name starting to run on repeat. He was so hard he thought he would explode. Scooping her backside in both hands he pulled her to him and spread her wide. He could wait no further. With one hand he grabbed himself and paused at her entrance. Looking down at the two of them together about to become one once again, this time as husband and wife. Mark looked up and there she was. Looking at him. Those eyes. Liquid, wide and open, exposed. Mark sucked in a breath, swallowed and plunged in.
• • •
“Charles, stop!”
The motorcycle raced by her on the wet drive and already Sam knew she’d never be able to catch up to him, but still she had to try. She rushed to the foyer and grabbed the keys to her father’s Porsche. Oh God, he would kill her when this got out — and it was bound to get out. Already the so-called “artistic” pictures that Julian took of her were probably making their way to the screens of their friends both on and off the island. So smooth he was, promising her the world, telling her how beautiful she was, to trust him, how the photos were only for him. And look where it got her. Now here she was, chasing behind Charles who was on his way to Julian’s boat to kick the shit out of him. Maybe she shouldn’t have told Charles about Julian’s threat of blackmail, but she hadn’t known what else to do. She couldn’t risk the photos getting out, and she couldn’t bear telling their father. He’d freak, and — foolish as it was — she did believe she loved Julian. He just had problems. She grimaced against her own foolish thought. Love or not, this was the fuck up of all fuck ups.
Sam took a hard curve and fumbled, looking for the wipers as the rain started to pick up. How could Julian do it? He told her he loved her, that she could trust him. She believed him. And now here it was — she was the joke of the island. Would be the joke of New York and the shame of her family.
Sam gripped the wheel tighter and turned the wipers up. She could now barely see in this misty rain; how could Charles ride through it? Her heart began to pound even harder as a sense of foreboding gripped at her throat. Oh God, please let him slow down. She pumped her breaks as her hands tightened, trying to get control into a hard right. Lord, please let Charles just pull over and stop. She didn’t care what her friends or even her father thought in that moment. Just let him stop and be safe. This was downright scary. Why did she ever get him that damned bike for his birthday in the first place? She knew what a daredevil her brother was.
Sam bit her lip and veered left as the curve for Maiden Lane came up. She’d soon be at Julian’s dock. She let out a sigh, preparing herself for the fireworks to come. But the breath died in her throat as she was met head on by wide headlights arching out at her, highlighting the mangled metal of her brother’s bike and the broken mass that was his body.
• • •
Sam let out a scream. Its low pitched wail curdled in Mark’s belly.
“Sweetheart, wake up. Wake up! It’s alright, I’ve got you! You’re safe,” Mark said, shaking Sam, forcing her awake. Forcing her to look into his eyes.
She blinked. Her eyes were full of tears that ran freely down her cheeks onto her pillow below. He rubbed her shoulder. “Wake up, sweetheart. It’s okay. You’re safe.”
Mark knew his mistake as soon as the same words from all those years ago left his lips. He watched as Samara’s eyes clouded over, the liquid turning to soft confusion, and then, like a storm, realization.
“You.”
He got a sudden knot in the pit of his stomach and he leaned in and kissed her soft, beautiful lips. But she turned her head, lifting her hands, pushing his face
back, forcing him to meet her eyes.
“You know me? And I know you. Oh God, you were that boy. That boy from the office.” She reached up and touched his scar, and on impulse he flinched, as if he were there, feeling the blow from her father all over again. He fought to remind himself that he wasn’t that boy and she was not that girl. He locked eyes on her as he said a silent prayer.
Mark nodded, watching, hopeful, as her eyes widened and the tears went down the sides of her face, but his hope dimmed as Sam’s eyes darkened and shadows took over the light. Then, just like that, her eyes closed and she clinched into a ball, her body tight. Panic crept up his spine.
“Sweetheart, please don’t do that.” Mark reached for her, leaning in to kiss her bare shoulder.
She flinched. Her voice was soft against the pillow. “How long have you known me? Known who I was?”
Mark shook his head, fear clogging his throat. “Do we have to do this now? Please, we’re on our honeymoon.”
And then she was kicking at him. Clawing at him. Pushing him to the foot of the bed. “How long have you known? How long have you been lying to me?”
He turned, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Since the moment I first saw you over a year ago,” Mark let out in a low whisper. He swallowed and looked at her as she clutched the sheets to her naked breasts. He tried his best to strengthen his resolve and not choke. “I’ve always known you and known who you were. I never forgot you.”
Mark watched her as she just stared at him for a long moment. So long that he forgot to breathe. But then it was like too much rushing water and a dam that was breaking, and breaking hard. Sam was spitting fire. “You fucked with my head. What was I just revenge to you, or just a come up?” She was starting to shake. “I can’t believe I let you fuck with my head. Get inside me like that. After I vowed never again.” Suddenly she jumped up, whirling on him while his denials were still on his tongue and barely out of his mouth. “But that shit is over. I’m done. This — ” She waved a finger and pulled off her ring, the one that had been there all of four hours now, and threw it at him, hitting him square in the chest. “Is done.”
Mark stood to reach for her, but she stopped him with her upturned hand. Exquisite fingers held up in a defensive posture. Her eyes burning fire. “Don’t. Ever again. Who are you to think that you can dare touch me?”
Mark stilled, pulling his hand away, the icy sting of her words burning him like cold fire. His blood froze in his veins as he watched her reaching for her panties, then her jeans, and pulled them on. Words tumbled in his head that he didn’t dare say. That he didn’t trust himself to say and not have her knock them back at him. Make him feel even lower than he already did. He felt his body fold back onto the bed and he sat in mute silence as he watched her dress.
It all happened so fast. First she was there and then she was gone. All without him barely saying more than a muttered “I’m sorry” as his untouchable doll, his dream girl, walked out the door.
Mark fell back and looked up at the ceiling, blinking back to life as the hotel room door clicked closed behind her. He let out a haunted laugh. “She was not for me. Well, Leighton, for a short while, she was.”
Chapter 22
Samara touched down in New York, bleary eyed, and had the privilege of being greeted by a flurry of photographers. Exiting the baggage claim, she covered her eyes with wide framed sunglasses and looked around, checking for the celebrity she must have missed on her flight.
Not seeing any, she was surprised to be greeted moments later by the open arms of her mother who was standing next to a stern faced Combs.
“Darling!” her mother said, a bit too loud and a bit too showy.
Sam frowned. “What is going on, Mother?”
Her mother linked arms with her and looked over her shoulder. “And where is my new son in law?” Sam stilled, turning to stare openmouthed at her mother.
“Dearest, you look like a fish making that face and since you are pale as all get out and also look like something the cat dragged in, I’ll take that as my answer for now and let you fully tell me what happened in the car. Now perk it up for the cameras. They’re here for you, darling. It’s been a slow weekend.”
“Freaking hell,” Sam mumbled.
Liv grinned and moved forward confidently, giving her pearls a twist. “You’ve got that right, dear daughter. But really, I’m thinking this is a case for all out ‘fuck,’ don’t you agree?”
Once inside the cool interior of the car, Sam leaned back on the headrest and closed her eyes. She knew her mother was staring at her and she didn’t want to meet her appraising stare. Not yet.
“Where to, Mrs. Leighton? Park or Downtown?”
It didn’t escape Sam that Combs asked her mother and not her. Clearly, he knew where his bread was buttered.
“Downtown. Thank you, Combs.”
Sam’s eyes popped open in a fit of déjà vu when she heard the snap of a paper hitting the leather of the seat by her side. “Really, Mother. I’ve made the paper already? Can we at least wait until we’re back at my apartment to hash this out?”
“Oh, stop being so dramatic, Samara, and look at the damned paper,” Liv uncharacteristically barked at daughter, causing Sam to draw her lips together in a tight-lipped frown. But still intrigued, Sam reached over and picked up the paper by her side.
Her heart dropped and she shook her head at the news that assaulted her. “Fucking vultures.”
“You got that right,” her mother said.
Sam let out a long breath of air as with a heavy heart she ran her eyes over the large photo and the accompanying few lines of copy in the article. She looked back up at her mother. “I can’t say that I’m totally surprised or even all that hurt. I’m more upset for him. No one should have to go through this type of scrutiny. A person should be able to choose how they come out and this is not it.”
Sam threw the paper down by her side and leaned back. She felt terribly guilty for the part she and Peter both played in the relationship. The kisses that where there but not quite. The gut feeling that she didn’t listen to. Sam glanced at the paper. It showed supposedly deleted tweets from Peter, then some from Stephan’s Twitter account with him and Peter in a quite intimate naked embrace hashtagged: #TheMorningAfter. The accompanying story linked her with Peter and talked of how the hot New York club owner had been living a double life and all the salacious and not all that surprising to her details of how he was trying to marry her for her money and connections.
“How is Dominique?” Sam asked.
Her mother shrugged. “She’s fuming. I think mostly due to the way it all came out, but I’m sure she’s working on spin as we speak. She was hoping that you’d still be open to a relationship of some sort with Peter, but to his credit, Peter shut her down. Which, seeing with the way things went in Vegas it would seem that you have done the same to your father and me.”
“And you know all this how, Mother?”
Liv gave a slight shrug. “I have my ways, Samara. Unlike you, I do my research. Besides, a girl like you can’t just slip out of town, land in Vegas, check into a hotel with a wedding ring and a new name, and expect it to go unnoticed.”
Sam felt her lips twist as she shook her head. “I guess not.” She let out a long breath. “And I didn’t shut you and Dad down. I just … ” Sam paused, suddenly coming up against a lump in her throat as the image of Mark, thrown back on the hotel room’s bed, not quite able to meet her eyes but still begging her to stay came to her mind. “Honestly, I don’t know what I did.”
“Don’t you?” Her mother leveled her with a hard stare.
Sam let out an anguished sigh. “I do know I trusted him and he lied to me.” She paused. “Mother, last night I had the nightmare again, and it triggered a memory from long ago, of a boy looking down at me from when I was sleeping in Dad’s offic
e. You remember, don’t you? The woman who used to clean Daddy’s office. She had a son, and one day he woke me up and it threw Daddy into a rage. Well, that boy is Mark.”
Her mother grew still. “Oh dear … ” She suddenly looked like she needed her evening cocktail. Stat. “Here we go,” she muttered.
Sam felt herself frown, thinking of Mark, that sweet little curly haired boy. God, they were so different and still so the same. So connected. She didn’t know why she freaked out like she did back at the hotel. Could it be she just couldn’t let go of the ghosts, no, the guilt of Charles? It always made her feel like getting close to anyone again was poison, killing him all over again. Oh hell, her pain in the ass therapist would probably stand up and cheer over that revelation. Shit, had she overreacted? Sam shook her head. But Mark had lied to her. All this time he’d watched her through this lens from the past. It felt wrong that he hadn’t told her. “Mother, Mark lied about who he was. He knew me. Who knows, maybe he was even getting back at Dad for hitting him all those years ago. Using me in a battle of wills like I’m some kind of trophy. How can I trust that?” Sam stopped, and her mind did a rewind. “Wait. What did you mean by, ‘Here we go’?”
Her mother let out a long breath. “Tell me, Samara, were you entirely truthful with him? Did you always show him the real you or were you too afraid he was judging you even before you knew he’d been wronged by your father? And, Miss Know-It-All, did you even really try to get to know him? Did you ever really ask who he was? Did you ever search him out? Did you ever even really want to know? Because, really, it wouldn’t have been that hard.”
Sam stilled, staring into her mother’s challenging eyes for long silent moments as the car made its way along The Grand Central Parkway and into Manhattan. Finally she spoke when she felt she could control her words and anger. “What are you saying, Mother?”
Her mother took a deep breath and then looked up at her with determination. “Why are you not with Mark right now?”
Seduction’s Canvas (Crimson Romance) Page 20